


Where The Heart Is

by missbeizy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dildos, M/M, Poly!verse, Polyamory, RPF, Skype Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:46:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poly!verse.  Chris/Darren on location hotel sexy time + some Skyping with Will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where The Heart Is

There are two of them and two hotel rooms and, before, this would have been a simple statement of acceptable numbers. They'd have dinner or maybe a drink with some of the crew and bid each other good night in the lobby. This time around they linger in front of the elevators, room keys in hand, circling each other nervously.

They've been filming Kurt and Blaine in New York scenes, ending each day with dinner and conversation that would never have happened with such frequency at home or around their better halves. Chris isn't sure why exactly it's so much easier to engage three thousand miles away, but right now he's whiskey-loose and work-tired, and Darren still has Blaine's hair and some of the stage makeup because they'd opted out of that part of the process to escape earlier than usual. Darren is using his key card to mimic a pick while air-guitaring, and Chris can't help but smile.

It's always somewhat awkward between them, because when introversion and extroversion meet, it doesn't matter if there's love or attraction or acceptance in the mix—it's always just a little bit misaligned, regardless of how badly the two parties wish it could be otherwise. But they've talked about so many awkward things this week—settled old arguments, agreed to future boundaries—with so much success that there's a wonderfully sore acceptance burrowed deep inside of Chris' chest tonight, a reassurance only enhanced by how far they are from home, where Darren is a source of familiar comfort in an otherwise unfamiliar place as well as an ally.

So they peek at each other out of the corner of their eyes. Darren smiles. Chris smiles. Their facial muscles tick with restrained interest. Chris' hand curls up tight with the urge to reach over and lace their fingers. They would never, not in a million years, do something like that outside of complete privacy, and so the notion never even rises above crazy idea level, but Darren picks up on it and shifts a little closer just to make him feel better.

The elevator going up dings.

The awareness of security cameras in defined locations makes Chris even more paranoid, but again—there's that magnetic pull between their bodies. It makes his skin tingle and his stomach swoop and his cheeks hot.

They get off at their floor. Chris shoves his hands awkwardly into his pockets. He worries that this gesture sends the wrong message but Darren just stands there, flipping his key card over his knuckles.

Despite his apparent ease, Chris feels self-conscious; it's always Darren doing the offering or the inviting, always Darren making the joke to lessen the choppiness of the transition from one activity to the next and, even though it's easy for him, even though he's comfortable in that role, even though that's just what Darren does, it's not fair and Chris is aware of that fact.

Chris looks at Darren, tilts his head just a fraction, and for a moment Darren's eyes flicker to his mouth. Chris' face flushes hot.

It's not simply a matter of saying something that boils down to wanna fuck? It hasn't been that simple for a long time. Maybe that's why he struggles with it; wanna fuck had been pretty damned easy compared to wanna fuck because I want my hands on you more than I currently want to breathe and you look so fucking good that it makes my insides hurt and if we could fall asleep with me breathing in the smell of your hair that would also be great and did I mention that I want your body next to me when I wake up at ass o'clock tomorrow?

The desire inflames the small part of him that still doesn't trust—but it lights up the rest of him like a Christmas tree, and he knows that Darren knows.

"My room is a fucking mess," Darren says, saving him the embarrassment of initiating yet again.

Chris smirks. "Mine too, though minus the food garbage that is usually part of your 'fucking mess' definition." He takes a breath. Stares at Darren's face, lined still with streaks of bronze-colored foundation, framed by the shellacked dome of Blaine's hair, now dented in places and curling up in others. There are moist strands of it hanging around his temples and forehead. Chris wants to reach out and smooth down the pieces that are making a bid for freedom. Instead, he smiles, and lets the smile come over sweet. "Spend the night with me?"

"Yeah?" Darren asks, head tilted, eyebrows rising. It's not that he doesn't believe—it's that he's surprised, and Chris can't blame him.

With the memory of their conversations and the promises they'd made to each other just days ago fresh in his mind, Chris gives a little more. "I would really, really like it if you did."

Darren smiles like a kid offered a shiny toy—it's a handsome look on him, making his mouth pleasantly wicked and his eyes sparkle. "Let me get my phone charger and some clothes for tomorrow and I'll be there."

Chris can't help the racing of his heart at that look or the surge of heat that throbs through him and then settles in between his legs. He nods, grins, and shakes his head to himself after they give each other their backs.

He's missed Will every second since boarding his plane at LAX, but having Darren with him has made all of the difference in the world as the days have gone by; having Darren solely on his own merits, yes, but also having Darren as someone who loves Will almost as much as he does has resulted in a superior combination of two very different but also equal types of security blankets.

He'd never imagined that loving more than one person at once could be like this, but it is.

At the same time, it's the first time that he and Darren have been completely alone working on location in a domestic-style setup since things have settled between the four of them and it feels different. Chris isn't sure how, exactly, but the few moments that he has to himself before Darren arrives he uses to find and put condoms and lubricant in reach of the bed and also to freak out a little. His whole body is warm and his dick twitching and his heartbeat uneven and he really needs to stop analyzing every fucking thing because he's about to get laid.

He realizes that he's wanted this all week. Sharing a flight and a lot of physical scenes with Darren has kept them in contact almost nonstop since they left home, but all that has led to is the formation in Chris of an unsatisfied longing for actual intimacy.

Darren knocks not long after, and Chris gives him about ten seconds to put down his clothes and phone and zip lock of toiletry items before sliding two arms around his shoulders and pulling him up into a hungry kiss. Darren makes a soft, surprised noise that is promptly swallowed. Chris has no desire to push him against something; he just wants him closer, so he drags their chests and hips together, tilts his head and presses into Darren's mouth with his tongue.

"Fuck," Darren breathes out, shoving his hands up the back of Chris' t-shirt to trace the slope of his spine with eager fingers.

"That's the plan," Chris answers cheekily, breaking off to kiss warm and wet down Darren's neck.

Darren snickers, one hand shooting down the seat of Chris' pants. "You're in a mood."

He's not, really. But Darren hasn't figured that out yet. He cups the back of Darren's head with one hand and twists Darren's shirt up in the other, breathing out hot over Darren's cheek. "Want you," he says, voice gone ragged, and he doesn't care if Darren understands just how intense the desire has become. He's not afraid of that anymore—they've rebuilt that trust and then some.

Darren's body goes tight under his hands. He pulls away from the kiss, eyes wide, still rimmed by the mascara and eyeliner he wears for the cameras. It makes his gaze even more intense. He puts his right palm on Chris' jaw, thumbs his cheekbone and rubs their nose tips together.

"Feeling's mutual," he says, emotion making the words rougher, though surprise is still there in his eyes. "God, darlin', so much, you have no idea," he rushes to add, kissing Chris, once and then again, and again, and again, until they're squirming into the embrace and Chris is breathing heavily.

"Can we shower all this shit off?" he asks, walking them toward the bathroom.

The various makeup and hair styling products that the crew uses to get them to look a certain way on camera and under the lights only become more disgusting as they degrade, and Chris feels like a mummy from the neck up. He knows that it's worse for Darren, whose hair is made into a literal helmet on a daily basis and whose skin is slathered with makeup to inch it a few shades darker.

"Hell yeah," Darren answers.

After they undress, Darren climbs into the shower first and Chris second.

"Let me?" Chris asks, reaching for the special shampoo that Darren uses when working.

He smiles lopsidedly. "I have no complaints about tonight. Damn."

Chris smirks, pouring out a palmful of shampoo. "Shut up and turn around." Darren goes with a wink, and Chris tugs Darren's smooth, gorgeous back against his chest. He'd never admit it, because he still has so many body issues, but he loves the couple of inches of height that he has on Darren. He loves the new strength and trimness of his torso, the width of his shoulders, loves how easy it is to box Darren in arms, crane over him just so.

"So fucking big," Darren says, as if reading his mind, biting off a moan as Chris works the shampoo into his hair. "God, remember when you were just this little twink in a blazer—"

Chris pinches his waist, laughing. "Twink in a blazer, huh?"

"Now you're fucking stacked as hell, shit, so fucking hot."

"Yeah? You like that?" Chris asks, pressing him belly-first into the shower wall, working his fingers roughly against his scalp to get all of the product out.

"Why do you think I let you manhandle me so often?" Darren asks, tilting his head back.

Suds run down the thick column of his throat, across the wide slope of his shoulders, and Chris can't help but stare. Though Darren hasn't changed as drastically as he has, he's still gorgeous as he always has been, and then of course there's—

Chris runs one soapy hand down Darren's chest to find the curve of his soft belly.

"My one new addition isn't quite as compelling as your fucking body, Christopher."

Chris grins, tracing the slight swell with his fingertips. "I like it. It's soft and it's more you than that flat belly was."

"Totally fucking biased, man. Your love converted Will's six pack into sex pudding and now you're just way too big of a fan of your own handiwork."

Giggling, Chris strokes up and down Darren's belly. "I'm not sure if he'd appreciate the phrase sex pudding, but maybe you're on to something. I think I like destroying men's bodies with the power of my affections. So how much of this should I take credit for?"

"Fuck no, man. This is all alcohol, take-out, and a general lack of giving a fuck." Chris tips him under the shower's spray to wash the shampoo out, then hands him his face scrub and plays with the soap running down his skin as he uses it.

"Aw, I really wanted to bring my collection up to a whopping total of two, considering the fact that I'm only ever going to have a shot at two total. You could've humored me. Asshole.”

"You want to claim permanent dominion over my flab?" Darren asks, leaning back into Chris' shower-hot, wet skin as he lets his voice slide into a Southern belle accent. "I do declare, Mr. Colfer. Your intentions are honorable after all."

Chris grins like an idiot, pressing his face into the spot where Darren's neck and shoulder meet. He flattens his hand over Darren's hip and teases downward, gets close enough to feel the curve of his flaccid cock. It's nice to just linger there, intimate but not sexual yet, the warm water beating down on them, rising steamy with the combined scent of their soap and shampoo.

They finish washing quickly and efficiently, never completely breaking physical contact. Just before the end of the shower Chris sneaks another pump of soap and gently works it into Darren's pubic hair, relishing the tension that steels Darren's spine in response.

"I think you may have missed a spot," he whispers, taking Darren's earlobe between his teeth.

"Is that so?" Darren breathes, hips twitching.

And just like that the urgency returns, like an itch that refuses to be scratched, just beneath Chris' skin. He kisses over Darren's shoulders, over the top knob of his spine, over the birthmark at the back of his neck, then curls his hand around Darren's thickening length, thrilling at the way that it feels against his fingers. He strokes it lightly but steadily, until it's fattening up in his fist and Darren is working his pelvis against the friction.

If they were just on vacation Chris wouldn't care if they fucked six times over with showers in between, but it's late, they're on location, and they have a six o'clock call.

"We can blow each other at the same time," he offers, soft and dirty right against Darren's ear.

"Oh, fuck. Oh fuck yes."

"If you're good maybe I'll even lick your ass open while I'm down there,” he says, filthy and shameless.

He's sure that Darren can feel the skitter of his heart against his shoulder blades. His head is spinning with the idea even as he nonchalantly exits the shower, trailing water, swaying his ass from side to side when he feels Darren's eyes on it.

They make out frantically all the way to the bed, towels abandoned long before they're put to use, and Darren drags him down onto his side of the bed and wraps him up in his arms and legs and Chris almost forgets their purpose entirely because Darren smelling good and warm against him is as good as anything else. He kisses Darren's neck and shoulders, and runs his hands all over Darren's naked body.

"So good," he mutters, mouthing and nipping at every crease, every bend that he can reach without letting go too much.

"Fuck, want your cock in my mouth," Darren whines, grabbing at his ass and hauling him closer.

Darren has this way of making even the most awkward sexual act completely not awkward; within the span of two or three tugs they've rotated around and Darren's cock is bumping his mouth and he's so hungry for it that he doesn't even ask for permission before sinking his mouth down around it. He loves the shock that results, that makes Darren's thighs and calves tighten up and his spine bend. There's a warm, wet explosion of sensation as Darren does the same to him, and then they're clutching each other's hips, ass cheeks, thighs, as they suck each other.

It quickly devolves into a contest to see who can make the other come first, which is one hundred percent not surprising and a lot more fun than it sounds. By the time he actually gets close, Chris is sweating and panting and fucking Darren's mouth, trying to get deeper, and then he totally cheats and presses a fingertip to Darren's dry, clenching hole.

"Cheating," Darren growls.

"Who said no cheating?" Chris answers, grinning and licking Darren's balls from top to bottom as he presses the tip of his finger against Darren's pucker.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck yeah, come on."

Letting go with Darren is so easy. Chris sucks a breath through his nose, buries Darren's cock between his lips and pushes a single dry knuckle inside of him, twisting it and pressing it and bobbing around Darren's cock until it's dribbling bitter over his tongue and twitching wildly against the roof of his mouth.

"Oh, fuck yeah you win, you fucking win, oh god, fuck, gonna come—"

Chris takes Darren's cock into his throat and swallows, pushing his finger deeper, and chokes but tries to hide it when Darren comes down his throat. He'd never admit it but he loves doing that, loves feeling a dick convulse against the back of his throat, loves the shivering gag that he has to suppress when come floods his throat and he can't breathe around it.

"Jesus," Darren hisses, fucking himself through Chris' slack lips and loose fist. "Fuck, yeah."

Before Chris can finish swallowing, Darren's fist is jerking him off, fast and rough.

"Shit," he hisses. "Oh, shit. Oh fuck. Coming." The hungry, eager groan that Darren makes is interrupted by Chris' come filling his mouth, but fuck those lips wrapped around him, sucking him down, are so fucking hot to watch that he doesn't even care. "Why did we think this wouldn't be messy? Damn."

Darren laughs, licking come from the corner of his mouth. "No idea."

"Gonna have to rinse off again," Chris pants.

"Speak for yourself. I'm sleeping right fucking here and now."

When Chris moves to get up, Darren reaches out and catches him by a bare ankle. He smiles. "Hey. We can set an alarm and shower again before our call. Come here."

"I'm gross."

"Come here," Darren repeats, tugging Chris against him and tucking his head up underneath Chris' chin. "Mm. See? Awesome idea."

He's only going to protest so hard—this is what he'd wanted, after all. He smiles into Darren's sex-sharp but clean sweat smell, inhaling deeply with his nose pressed to the smooth slope of his Blaine-smooth chest.

"So if we're gonna enjoy ourselves, we should probably skip to the sex much earlier," Darren says dryly.

"Stop making me work for it and just come back with me, then," Chris answers.

"You don't have to ask me twice."

 

*

 

See, the thing is, they're both all kinds of filthy. Chris tries to be sweet about it, he really does. He orders room service and champagne, but then Darren pushes him up against something and kisses him and all of his romantic intentions go up in smoke. When they're at home Chris relies on Will to be the flirt, the sweet talker, the small talk maker—he's good at it because he always has been, and a heavy pinch of Southern manners goes a long way.

In the right environment and with the right people, Chris kind of just wants to laugh and get off. Darren thinks that sex can be everything—conversation, communication, and pleasure all rolled into one. They're kind of like teenagers with each other, and without Will's influence—well.

The second night after they give up the pretense and go upstairs together without any discussion of the arrangement Chris fucks Darren in the armchair by the windows, bends him over the back of it and teases him open with his fingertips until he's begging for it.

Then, of course, there's the shower with the excellent track pads on its floor. And the end of the bed. And the low-lying coffee table. And the sofa. And the armchair again, just for good measure.

The third night Darren has a tongue inside of Chris before they even flip the lock on the door, Chris' jeans peeled off of his ass far enough to allow his cheeks to be pulled apart. Darren fucks the shit out of him right there against the door, making it rattle even though it's hardly that kind of a door, and Chris has to bite down on his own forearm to stifle the noises that Darren drags out of him. And then Darren chooses their next destination—the vanity in the bathroom—and spreads Chris open and pushes him down onto it and then fucks him with his legs hooked over Darren's shoulders, smearing the mirror with sweat and bodily fluids.

The fourth night they take turns riding each other because neither have a preference, then finger each other with their thighs splayed wide while jerking themselves off.

The fifth night Darren falls asleep face down on the comforter two minutes after entering the room and Chris uses his ass for a footrest while he eats his room service cheeseburger. He has to admit that he's not minding this change of pace so much—his dick needs a break, and he hasn't been able to sit without wincing for a day or two now. Darren wakes up a few hours later, wolfs down a cold burrito and a warm Snapple and cuddles up to Chris and falls back asleep.

 

*

 

On the sixth night Will gets them on Skype.

"Well look at you two all cozy," he says, his grainy image wavering across the laptop screen.

"It was only a matter of time," Darren sighs. "My ass is hard to resist."

Chris smacks him. "How's Bri, hon?"

Will lifts the cat from his lap, making his paw wave. "Say hi to Daddy and Uncle Darren, Bri. Hi!"

"Aw, I miss you," Chris croons at Brian.

Will makes a face. "Feeling the love."

"I miss you, William," Darren says, feigning seriousness.

"Oh, shut up, you know I miss you, too," Chris says.

They catch up quietly, telling Will about the various locations they've been filming at, the songs they're recording for, and pulling out a few frustrating anecdotes that have only become funny after the fact but that make Will laugh until he tears up. It's comfortable, though seeing Will makes Chris' chest tense with the desire to have him not so far away.

After a long, sleepy break in the conversation, Chris' eyes happily settled on the planes of Will's underwear-clad body, he asks, "Are you up for maybe reminding us of what we're coming home to?"

"Really," Will drawls, then laughs, reclining with the laptop on the bed and letting Brian flee, which he's been trying to do since Will had first held him up, anyway.

"What he means to say is, we've been fucking like the apocalypse is nigh, we're both sore and feeling lazy as shit, and he wants a show because you are smoking hot. Also we miss you.”

Chris elbows Darren. "Traitor."

"Hey, I want a show, too," Darren adds, bouncing. “I'm endorsing this, Colfer.”

"If I'm going to perform I might need a little motivation," Will says, giving them that sweet, slow, hot little smile that means he's game.

"I don't think that will be a problem," Darren says, and before Chris can even open his mouth Darren is describing in great detail exactly what Chris had done to him the night before last.

By the time that he reaches the (literal) climax of the tale Chris is squirming in his lap; Darren has one hand down the front of Chris' boxers, and Will is panting on the bed with his cock swollen and slick at the head, fucking up into his own fist as he listens to Darren talk about Chris bouncing on Darren's cock with Darren's hands tied to the headboard, about how Chris had fucked himself for twenty minutes without stopping and then had bit down on Darren's bicep and had come without a single touch, shooting messy and surprised all over Darren's chest (“Yeah, ride my dick, just like that,” and Chris growling, “Shut up and fuck me, fuck me, right there, oh fuck yeah right there, harder, fuck, fuck, fuck, yeah—”).

Will's tweaking his nipples with his free hand, flushed from his nose to his collarbone, getting harder and closer to orgasm with every word.

"God, you look so good," Chris moans, arching into Darren's hand. "Miss you so much. Miss fucking you and kissing you and—fuck, babe."

Will relocates his hand from his chest to his balls and then finally lower, and with his pupils blown wide he leans closer to the laptop camera and whimpers, "Can I get a toy? I just—feel so empty."

"Christ," Darren hisses, rutting against Chris' ass.

"Yeah, god, yeah, go ahead," Chris says.

The picture sucks and doesn't do Will justice, but in a way the grainy blurs and mediocre image quality are sexy in the way that a tease can be sexy, and remind Chris of the few times they'd done this early on when he'd had to travel for work and had not been able to take Will with him. Or that one time they never talk about when Will was still with his ex and they'd somehow ended up drunk on Skype and Chris had asked Will to jerk off for him and he'd given in, and they'd felt like shit about it the next day.

But there's nothing like that tonight—Chris is in Darren's arms and their boyfriend is teasing a flesh-colored dildo between his cheeks for them to see and god, life is fucking good.

Darren fists Chris lazily, breathing heavily against his hair. "Can we flip a coin for who gets to fuck the shit out of him first after we get home?"

"No way," Chris exhales, sliding his fingers back into Darren's hair. "You get to fuck Mia and that isn't an option for me, so I get first dibs on Will. Also I saw him first."

"Hello, I am right here, boys," Will says dryly, wrist flexing as he sits down on the dildo with a groan and a grunt.

"Fuck me, that's hot," Darren groans. "Argue later. Watch him ride that thing for us now."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," Will says, and begins rising up and falling down on the toy.

Chris whimpers, wriggling his free hand beneath them and gripping Darren's cock. "He should be illegal. Jesus fucking Christ look at him."

"Agreed. Shit. Shit, yeah, jerk me off."

They fall silent then, more eager to watch than snark.

Will is gloriously naked but for the knot of briefs tangled around his knees. He pants and spreads his thighs wide on the bed so that they can see every wet slide of the dildo inside of him—he plays it up, obviously, exaggerated slow rolls of his torso and hips to show off all of the corded muscles of his body combined with long, slow slides of his fist along his cock, until he's so close that he can't do it anymore without risking coming.

"Shit," Chris pants, overwhelmed by the image, the sound, as well as by the naughty thrill of the simple mutual handjob that he and Darren are sharing—the whisper of their fists over their cocks, the glide of hairy legs as they rearrange to assuage wrist and finger cramps. He's warm and getting warmer, melting slowly into Darren's lap, surrounded by the noise of the two of them getting off right alongside him and so turned on that it almost hurts. "Oh, fuck, I'm close."

"Me too," Darren groans.

"Come for me, then," Will says, the dildo balanced on the bed beneath him, buried to the hilt, as he clenches and grinds down around it. "Make me come, baby. Wanna see you."

"Thinking about the way he clenches up around me when he comes with me inside of him," Chris blurts, rocking up into Darren's hand. "Oh fuck. Fuck I miss that, fuck."

"Yeah, come on," Darren hisses, his hand a blur as he pulls at the head and glans, making his palm sticky with Chris' pre-come.

Chris gasps and comes with his eyes wide open, staring at Will fucking himself on the dildo—Darren comes seconds after him, and Will moments later, sobbing softly as his hips jolt against the intrusion and his cock jerks in midair, messing the bedspread in front of him.

It's hard, the distance; Chris lies there, messy and spent but not really satisfied, staring at Will's long, strong, golden body on their bed, and wants more than anything in this world to be at home with Will and Brian, to not have to wake up with the sun and rehearse in the chilly morning air until his muscles ache and his head hurts.

But they're almost done with New York, and Darren is cuddling him and cleaning him off with a tissue, and for now, it's enough.

He exhales, cranes his neck and draws Darren down into a warm kiss. "Thanks, honey," he says, gathering up the used tissues and tossing them off the bed.

"Four o'clock Thursday?" Will asks, still full of the toy but looking sleepy lying on his side, his spent cock curled on his thigh.

"Yep," Darren says.

"It's late," Will says. "Get to sleep, you two. Love you. Thanks for the play time.”

"Love you, too," Chris replies.

"Love you, Will," Darren says.

After, spooned up against Darren's back, Chris slides toward sleep a lot faster than he thought he might.

"Home soon," Darren murmurs.

"Wasn't as bad this time, though."

"Yeah?"

Chris' hand finds his. He laces their fingers on Darren's belly. "It was nice, having you around so much."

He can feel Darren smile. "Home is totally where my dick is."

Chris giggles, caught off-guard though he really shouldn't have been, and lets his eyelids sink again. "Not even going to disagree. Good night."

Darren kisses the back of his neck, grinning. "Night, darlin'."


End file.
